


making up for teenage crimes

by bloodscout



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Good Cows (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Male Character of Color, Not Beta Read, POV Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Season/Series 04, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: Jon couldn’t hold in his laughter at that, startling Martin a little. “I don’t get on too well with cows, I’m afraid.”That made Martin’s brows furrow, deep lines appearing on his forehead. “How do you not get on with cows?” he asked, utterly perplexed.“Uh,” Jon responded intelligently. “Just don’t think they particularly like me.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 40
Kudos: 338





	making up for teenage crimes

**Author's Note:**

> this is heavily based on a conversation that my real life girlfriend and i had, in which i am jon. cottagecore lesbianism is not without its hiccups.
> 
> a note on autistic jon: it is not explicitly stated here! but i am, as the youths say, a jon kinnie and i cannot write him any other way
> 
> title from teenage crimes by adrian lux bc it made me laugh

Somewhere between York and Newcastle, Jon realised that he was probably, technically, unemployed. At the very least, he doubted Elias would be able to pay him on time, recent events considered. In light of this fact, it was perhaps a bad idea to splurge on first class tickets for their train up to Scotland. At least they didn’t decide drive, though that was less of a decision than a matter of practicality. Martin didn’t trust his ability to focus on the road for hours on end so soon after his escape from The Lonely, and Jon was… How had Georgie put it? He had the bisexual trifecta: he couldn’t drive, he was bad at math, and he didn’t have a relationship with his father. At least in first class they could push their seats back and Martin could curl into Jon’s side as he slept. Crucially, they had both hands free, so Jon could keep Martin’s hand wrapped in his spindly fingers.

The constant touching was not just for Martin’s benefit, though no doubt a man newly freed from the grasp of The Forsaken needed as much human contact as possible. Jon also found himself in desperate need of Martin’s grounding weight, because on the heels of his realisation that he no longer had a job was the realisation that he had killed a man today. An avatar, yes, but no less human than Jon himself. No more human either, he supposed, but he still felt human enough, and that had to count for something. He _felt_ like a man who had just killed a man, so that seemed like the best way to describe what had happened.

Martin rubbed his face into the wool of Martin’s cardigan, snuffling quietly as he woke.

Jon proffered his glasses, which he had tucked into the collar of his t-shirt. “How are you feeling?” he asked, and immediately regretted it. It just seemed like the kind of thing he should say in a situation like that, except there wasn’t really a situation even remotely comparable to this. He threw his script out the window.

Martin didn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil, luckily. He rolled away somewhat, though he still kept a firm hold on Jon. It might have felt constrictive, nearly threatening, if it had been anyone else.

“Stressed,” Martin breathed, fixing his glasses. “But what’s new, I guess.”

Not sure how to respond, Jon rubbed a thumb along the back of Martin’s hand. Martin didn’t have a lot of body hair, unlike Jon himself, but there were still short, fine hairs thats shifted under his thumb.

Martin let out a heavy breath and Jon could feel his body begin to tense. “It’s just…” he began, then made a frustrated noise. “Actually, I’m very much not okay right now. We’re murder suspects now, and we’re fugitives, and we’re on our way to a safe house so we don’t get arrested. Which for some of us is an entirely new experience, I’d like to say! And we just found out the our boss was not just evil, but The original, number one, big bad villain guy. And he might be trying to kill us, along with some crazed serial killers, and, that’s right, the monster that killed our friend and replaced her. So, no. Not okay.”

Jon nodded, swallowed. He was uncomfortable, and his instinct was to argue back, but he couldn’t. “You’re right.” It was hard, but Martin deserved the truth for once. “I’m stressed too. And scared.” A deep breath. “But we can’t just be scared forever. That’s just what they want. The Hunters, and that thing that isn’t Sasha, and El— and Jonah Magnus, they need us to be afraid.” He looked down at their intertwined fingers. “There has to be something to look forward to.” he prompted, trying to inject more cheer into his voice than he had felt for a long while.

Martin was silent, but he no longer felt like he was about to bur apart.

“I’m looking forward to Scottish Breakfast tea.” Jon offered.

At that, Martin almost laughed, his shoulder moving but no sound escaping. “You mean you’re looking forward to me making you Scottish Breakfast tea.”

“Well, yes. A bit. I’ve been making it myself and it’s just not as good.” He looked up at the ceiling, the picture of exasperation. “How I manage to fuck up putting a bag into water, I’ll never know.”

This time the movement of Martin’s shoulders came with an audible exhalation that was so, so close to a chuckle. “I never used teabags, Jon. It was loose leaf, every time.” There was the hint of a smile in his voice, even though his face was hidden.

The struck Jon as an achingly Martin way of doing things. He didn’t cook his own dinners, mixed his instant coffee with hot water from the tap so he didn’t have to wait for it to cool, but he made cups of loose leaf tea for Jon for years. It was also so much like himself, Jon noted with distaste, to never notice. 

“That’s… very kind of you, Martin.”

Martin was silent again, but Jon suspected — hoped, even? — that he was blushing. Jon watched the country slip past the window, wishing he was looking at Martin’s face instead.

“Actually,” Martin said after a while, his fingers toying with Jon’s sleeve. “I am looking forward to something.”

“What, my flawless company?” Jon joked, feeling unexpectedly exposed.

“Yes.” Martin responded, unexpectedly serious. “But I didn’t think I was allowed to say that.”

Jon had to concentrate very hard to keep his breathing even. It was as if Martin had spoken without really realising Jon was there. Jon felt like he had overheard something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“That’s fine.” He sounded strangled. “I, I mean. You can… say that. I don’t mind.” He floundered for a moment, feeling the burden of the conversation shifted onto him. In what he hoped was a gesture of comfort, he squeezed Martin’s hand. “What were you going to say, though? Before?”

Martin sat up then, bringing his seat upright to look out the window. Jon scrambled to do the same.

“Cows.” he said, eyes flicking back and forth as the train sped along. “I hope there’s going to be a lot of cows. Those big ones, with the fringes and the horns. I’m excited about those.”

That surprised Jon, but he couldn’t pin down why. It was certainly in character. Martin _seemed_ like the kind of person who would like cows. Sensing Martin was awaiting a response, he cleared his throat. “Sounds nice.” he said lamely.

“Not much else in rural Scotland ‘cept cows, I suppose.”

“There’s actually a large number of animals native to Scotland. Seventy-five percent of red squirrels in the UK are found in Scotland, and European beavers are being reintroduced to the area. In October to November, grey seals have their breeding season and are often found along the coasts. That’s not even starting on the marine life, because the sea surrounding Scotland is one of the most biologically productive marine environments in the world. Oh my god.” Jon’s mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to swallow the words back in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Martin looked just as flummoxed by the strange outburst, but brought his lips together in a facsimile of a smile. “It’s okay. Uh, I guess I’m also looking forward to… beavers, then?”

“You don’t—” Jon started, but Martin interrupted quickly.

“No, no. I am excited for beavers, too. I hope they are… doing well.” he insisted, albeit weakly.

Jon was momentarily glad that Martin was avoiding directly looking at his face, because he didn’t trust his smile to be anything less than hopelessly smitten.

“But still mostly cows.” Martin clarified.

Jon couldn’t hold in his laughter at that, startling Martin a little. “I don’t get on too well with cows, I’m afraid.”

That made Martin’s brows furrow, deep lines appearing on his forehead. “How do you not get on with _cows_?” he asked, utterly perplexed.

“Uh,” Jon responded intelligently. “Just don’t think they particularly like me.”

This didn’t seem to quell Martin’s confusion. “Why not? Aren’t you a vegetarian now?”

Jon’s mouth twisted. This was going to be difficult to explain. He shouldn’t have said anything. “It’s not that, exactly. I just feel like… like they _know_.”

“Know what, Jon? That you’re unnecessarily cryptic and weird?”

It felt nice, hearing Martin tease him again. A warmth flared in his chest, and Jon bit down on his lip lest his smile split his face in two. “No, I just. Haven’t always been like this.” Martin squinted at him. “Uh, uptight. I guess.”

Understanding dawned on Martin’s face. “Oh, yeah. Your university band, I know. I’ve seen the photos.”

Jon shook his head fervently, as if it would help him understand the sharp left turn the conversation had taken. “Sorry, what? When? Who showed you?”

Martin waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. What does this have to do with cows?”

Now it was Jon’s turned to be confused. “Nothing.” he said, drawing the word out as he processed that Martin not only knew about his university band, but had seen the _photos_ of said band. “Nothing, sorry. I just mean. When I was in primary school, I had a — well, not quite a friend, but I knew another boy whose parents convinced him to invite me to his grandparents’ farm. Probably promised him a Sega Mega Drive or something, I don’t know.” Jon felt his cheeks heat, knew that he was blushing enough for it to be visible even on his dark skin. He was rambling. “Anyway, we went to his grandparents’ farm for a week, and. Well. We were young, and I was trying to impress him. I’m not _proud_ of it. But, you see, cows sleep upright.” 

Struggling to find the words, he trailed off. He hoped Martin could fill in the gaps. He seemed to know enough about cows, _surely_ he would understand what Jon was trying to say.

“That’s so sweet!” Martin cooed. Jon wanted to curl into a ball and roll down the aisle. “If you’re more comfortable seeing them when they’re sleeping, that’s okay. But they’re really very gentle, I promise.”

Jon plunged his free hand so deep into his hair he thought he might reach his skull. He was also suddenly, desperately aware that he needed to buy some hair oil.

“No, Martin, I didn’t pat them. I tipped them over.”

Like a flicking a light switch, Martin’s face instantaneously shifted to one of abject horror. “Sorry, Jon, you did _what_?”

Jon really didn’t want to elaborate more than he already had. But, as Hezekiah Wakely might have said: if you’ve already dug a grave, you may as well lie in it.

“We would just ride our bikes out at night and. Give them a shove. And they were asleep, so they just fell.” _It was quite fun_ , he tactfully did not add.

Martin hadn’t reacted this poorly when Jon told him that he had killed Peter Lukas. Granted, to Jon’s knowledge, cows had never blackmailed Martin into isolating himself from everyone who cared about him. 

“Jesus Christ, Jon. Did they die? Did you murder those cows? Were you a serial cow murderer?”

With a panicked jolt, Jon realised that Martin was about to cry. His eyelashes were clumping together, his beautiful hazel eyes rimmed with red. His chest constricted with empathy at the same time as a guilty embarrassment bloomed in his gut. Their carriage was mostly empty — no doubt Martin’s lingering connection the The Lonely — but there were still other people around, and Jon had never been good with people crying in public. He wished he hadn’t said anything, had just agreed when Martin said he was excited about the cows. Trying to diffuse the situation, Jon held up his hands in supplication. Unfortunately, the effectiveness of the gesture was dampened by the fact that he did not let go of Martin as he did so. 

“Hang on, which one of us actually eats beef?”

“You’re dodging the question!” Martin cried, still distressed. “Did you kill those cows, Jon!”

This situation was quickly spinning out of control. Jon was simultaneously trying to soothe Martin’s worries, protect his own pride, and end the conversation as quickly as possible, and he had never been good at multitasking. 

“No! The cows were fine, honestly.” he insisted, almost pleading. “They would either get up themselves, or just get picked up in the morning. They were perfectly okay. It was just a stupid thing I did when I was a kid. You can’t tell me you never did something you regret when you were young.”

Martin crossed his arms, turning away from Jon. It was the smallest of blessings that Martin did not let go of Jon’s hand either, a single tether that told Jon he had not irreparably destroyed whatever this was with a stupid story about cows.

“Never tried to kill a cow though.” Martin grumbled.

Despite his best efforts, Jon could not stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I was trying to make a friend.”

Martin scoffed at that. “Yeah, through crime.”

“Oh, come on. How else did we become friends?”

Saying that felt too much like an admission. Jon didn’t think they had ever called each other ‘friends’ before. He held his breath for a moment. What if Martin didn’t think they were friends? What if Martin didn’t see him as anything more than a co-worker, or someone who conveniently got him out of a difficult situation and he was now stuck with?

When Martin turned to peer at Jon through narrowed eyes, Jon felt like he had received divine benediction. “I’d like to think we’re friends because of a little bit more than just crime.” Martin said imperiously.

He couldn’t help himself. Jon grinned. “Crime was part of it, though. You have to admit we bonded over that C4.”

A second miracle occurred within the space of a minute, and Martin rested his head on Jon’s shoulder again. He had to be half out of his seat to do so, as he was definitely the taller of the two. Feeling as if he was taking a step off the edge of a cliff, Jon wrapped an arm around Martin and pulled him closer. For some unknown reason, Martin let him.

“I’m sorry I upset you.” he said, hoping he sounded as sincere as he felt. 

When Martin sighed, Jon felt it against his jaw. “No, it’s— It’s okay. I think everything is just… a lot at the moment. I’m still getting used to feeling.” Martin’s mouth moved like he wanted to smile, his usual reflex when he felt vulnerable. “I haven’t felt much of anything for a while.”

Jon looked down at their hands. His were scarred, with patches of deep, dusky brown he recognised from photos of his father peeking through the discolouration. Martin’s skin was lighter, an unblemished copper, and his palm was wide and solid, substantial in a way Jon’s wasn’t.

“I’ve been feeling a lot lately too.” he whispered, almost to himself.

Martin smiled up at him, impishly. “What, guilt about the cows?”

There weren’t words for how good it felt to see Martin smile. To see a genuine smile, not one that he plastered on to convince someone to leave him alone. It had been so long, almost a whole year, since he had seen Martin smile like that.

“A bit nicer than guilt, I think.” Jon resumed drawing small circles with his thumb.

“Pride, then?” Martin teased.

He could make fun of Jon for the rest of his life, only speak in jokes and gentle barbs, and Jon would die a happy man. Right now, it seemed like it was the only way he could come close. It was such a simple concept, really, but one that it had taken him so long to properly understand. Martin made him happy. More than that, Martin gave him direction, a destination that he could move towards.

“No, not pride.” he said before he realised his mouth had started moving. “It’s just…. Well, I haven’t said it yet, and you did, in a way. And I don’t want to put any pressure on you, so don’t feel like this… means anything. If you don’t want it to mean anything, I mean. Uh. Sorry, you probably know by now, because everyone knows by now. I don’t know how they wouldn’t, I’m—”

Martin’s hand was resting on his collarbone. When had that happened? 

“Jon.” he said, painfully gentle.

“Right. Just.” His pulse was thundering, and he was certain that Martin could feel it. “I love you. And I thought you should know.”

Martin licked his lips, his face otherwise devoid of expression. “Oh.” he said, and was silent.

Jon didn’t know what to do with his hands in the following moments, so he kept them as still as physically possible. He wished he could stop everything in that moment, still his entire body until Martin replied. Still his treacherous heart continued to thump away.

Martin’s hand was still at Jon’s collarbone, and two fingers had slipped under Jon’s shirt, brushing bare skin. “I thought you were going to talk about cows some more.”

Jon laughed, deliberately quiet. He didn’t want to be the one to break this precarious stillness. “No, I think we’re done with cows for the meantime.”

“I didn’t.” Martin said suddenly.

“What?”

His eyes were wide, but unfocused. “Know. That— That you loved me.”

It was Jon’s turn to utter a singular “Oh.” Then, “Well, I do.”

Martin nodded. “Good to know.”

Unsure what else to do, Jon turned his gaze to the scenery speeding past the window. The English countryside was really quite uniform, when it came down to it. Foliage, towns, disparate brick walls. A blurry figure that might have been a farm animal.

“We’ve been holding hands for over six hours.” Martin flexed his fingers demonstratively.

Was this Martin’s attempt to tell him that Jon was being clingy? Should Jon pull away? He settled on, “We don’t have to, if you don’t want.”

Martin shook his head, curls tickling a little where it brushed Jon’s neck. “No, you don’t have to let go. I just thought it meant that you knew.”

Apparently it was Martin’s turn to be cryptic now. “I know a great number of things, Martin. It’s kind of in the job description.” The description of the job he no longer had, at least.

“Jon, I’m trying to be serious.” Martin’s tone was reproachful.

Jon was, too. All of a sudden, he became fascinated with the pattern on the seat in front of him. 

“You don’t need to say anything.”

Martin tugged on Jon’s hand until Jon felt that it was rude not to look at him. He focused on a spot just between Martin’s eyebrows, where there was the lightest dusting of hair.

“Yeah, actually, I do. I’ve waited too long to say it already.” Martin took a deep breath, and Jon felt he stomach twist. “I— Look, I love you too.”

The English language abandoned Jon for several moments. Did Martin speak Nepali? Even then, he wasn’t sure if he could find the right words.

“I… also love you. As well.” Reviewing those words, he instantly paled. “Shit. Fuck. I already said that. This is embarrassing.”

Martin laughed again, and Jon wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life. “I just yelled at you about something you did two decades ago, Jon. I think we’re well past embarrassing.” He swiped his tongue across his lips, and Jon’s vision narrowed down to that brief movement. “It’s just going to be a while before I’m able to look at a cow without thinking about you, is all.” 

For some unknown reason, Jon didn’t feel a shred of awkwardness when he caught Martin’s eyes and replied, “Welcome to my world, then. I haven’t been able to look at anything without thinking about you for a very long time, now.”

Finally, there was that blush he had missed so much. 

Martin hit Jon on the chest, not really trying. “Stop being dramatic.”

“I just saved you from certain death at the hands of a fear god. I think we’re well past dramatic.” Jon mimicked, grinning. 

This was the single longest instance of uninterrupted eye contact that Jon had ever experienced in his life. He felt like he was glowing. He didn’t think the human body was built to hold this much joy.

“Sorry if this sounds stupid,” Martin said, his face eclipsing Jon’s entire vision. “But am I allowed to kiss you?”

Jon was struck with the feeling that they were edging towards something, slowly but inevitably. For the life of him, though, Jon couldn’t tell exactly what it was, except that he desperately wanted to get there.

“I— I think so?” he stuttered. “I mean, I’m not opposed. So. I-if you want. That would be okay.” He begged himself to shut up.

Martin drew closer. Jon was once again painfully aware of his heartbeat. “I do. I do want to kiss you.”

Their lips finally met, the angle awkward. Martin’s head was still on his shoulder, and Jon had never had to bend down to kiss someone, in his admittedly limited experience. Still, it was Martin, and Jon was blindingly, unwaveringly certain that this was the best kiss of his life to date. With a slight ache in his chest, he recalled Tim and Sasha’s frequent chorus during the romcom movie nights they planned under the guise of team bonding. “A kiss for the ages.” He hoped they would approve.

When they broke apart, Jon’s gaze darted to the window as the train began to slow, approaching the next station. Just by their window was a mass of reddish fur and two smooth, proud horns.

“Look, Martin,” he breathed, pointing out the window. “Our first Scottish cow.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](https://sansculotted.tumblr.com/) if you need more disaster gays in your life 
> 
> also kudos & comments keep fanfic writers alive :) thanks for reading


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